


hard to see beyond what's in sight

by paperclipsentimental



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Natasha and Phil have PLANS, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, because someone has to, just to clarify, the implied rape/non-con is in the past and not related/linked to present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipsentimental/pseuds/paperclipsentimental
Summary: Phil smiles, slow and easy and; “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he asserts. “You’re just going to lie there and I’m going to make you come, maybe with my fingers but maybe with my mouth, and maybe I’ll teach you how to please Nat, too.”Clint gives a full body tremble and his lashes flutter, so Nat runs her fingers through his hair just because he looks so pretty she can’t help it.“Does that sound good to you, lovely?” she murmurs in his ear and he nods instantly.“Yes,” he says.Or, Clint, Phil and Natasha. Together.





	hard to see beyond what's in sight

Clint, Phil, and Natasha. Together. It begins like this;

 

Clint’s relaxed. There is no reason for stress here in his apartment; all three of them can all protect themselves. Phil is lazing easily to his left, almost within touching distance if he extends his arm, and the sun is warm.

Natasha and Phil share a glance over Clint’s head and she nods at what she sees.

They had talked about this moment, extensively. How they wanted to do this best to make sure things went well. They hadn’t included Clint in their conversations, mostly because they were worried they would spook him. They don’t know everything about his past, but they know enough. Enough to be wary of how Clint might react to them, how he might be afraid if they don’t make the choices for him.

Clint is a soldier - he feels better with instruction, nervous with making too many choices when he has too much time to think about them. He’s good on his feet, at fast thinking, but they didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on him.

They had decided to start things off fairly easy, and keep an eye on how Clint was taking it to make sure they didn’t do anything that would hurt him in any way. Natasha had said, _we’ll check in with him_ and it had been decided.

 

Clint shifts, one arm behind his head as he watches tv; some documentary about trees that Natasha had tuned out almost instantly, reclined on his back on the sofa and he seems to realise, quite suddenly, that Nat is watching him from the comfort of her armchair. He twitches, and his eyes slide to Phil, who is watching too, with barely concealed interest. When he looks back to Nat, she’s pinning him with this _look,_ like she’s trying to decide how good he might be for her - like he’s a motor bike she might buy, not a person. Her eyes linger on the curve of his throat, his exposed hip bones, the line of his arms, and she must think _okay,_ because she swings up, easy as anything, and straddles him.

Phil lets out an appreciative noise but doesn’t move. His eyes are eagle sharp and focused, and Natasha smiles indulgently at the look on his face.

The slight weight of her presses Clint back into the soft leather of the couch and he doesn’t exactly tense because this is _Nat_ , he knows she isn’t going to hurt him, but he’s confused.

“Nat?” He questions, and Natasha cuts off the rest of the question by leaning down and kissing him. Clint softens into the kiss, still a little confused, but Nat decides he’s still thinking too hard and reaches up and hand and grabs a handful of hair and _pulls,_ and he bows off the couch like the pain is doing something really good for him, so she keeps up the steady pressure until he keens, until Coulson clears his throat pointedly and she flicks her eyes at him.

Phil nods to Clint, to the way his eyes are focused on her and blown black, huge with his sudden need - when she lets him go, it’s like every single muscle in his body goes lax.

He's beautiful in his trust, and she smiles at him.

Nat smooths her hands over the muscles of his shoulders and he shudders helplessly.

She runs her hands up his arms, fingers whispering along what feels like every single nerve until she gets to his wrists. He feels so sensitive that his hair is standing up. With a decisive nod, she winds his hands together above his head and pushes them into the couch. “Keep them there,” she tells him, voice low, and he nods quickly, eyes wide. She shares another glance with Phil, and then nods to Clint’s hands. “Maybe you could help him to be good?” She wonders aloud.

Phil crouches beside Clint’s head and clasps a gentle hand down firmly on Clint’s wrists. If he wanted to, this is a hold that Clint could easily break but he stays exactly where he is, breathing hard.

She sits back on her heels, still pressing him down easily, and takes a good, long, look at the picture he makes. She can feel the warmth of his arousal pressing against her and rocks once, cataloguing his reactions. He lets out a little noise, almost like a moan, and his hips twitch up involuntarily, but he doesn’t move his hands and it’s out almost before she thinks it – “Good boy.”

For a second, he doesn’t react. Then his eyes flutter closed as a bolt of hot arousal bites into his spine, and he bites his lip so hard it feels like he might bleed. Natasha frowns, concerned. “Are you alright?” She asks, stroking a path down his temple. “Do you want to stop?”

When he shakes his head, she lets out a little _ah_ sound of understanding. “You want to be good for us, Clint?” She scrapes her nails down his chest and he arcs and twists into it. He lets out a little noise in the back of his throat and nods. “Oh you do?” she smiles. “Well then how about this – Phil and I,” and here she gives another slow rock, hips grinding down relentlessly. “We want _you_ ,” he keens, high in his throat and she grins sharply into the soft skin of his jaw, pressing her smile there like a secret. “We intend to have you, too. How does that sound?”

Clint lets out a sharp noise from high in his throat and twitches helplessly against her again, before he breathes out long and slow and looks at her through lowered lashes. “I’m so turned on right now I think I might die,” he admits, strangled.

She smiles, cheek dimpling in the way it only does when she’s really happy, and wiggles down his body pulling off his sweatpants as she goes. Quite suddenly, he’s completely naked and he squirms at how exposed he feels. His hands clench uselessly against the urge to reach out and touch her, to cover himself, and she watches him struggle against himself for a moment until he relaxes against the firm pressure of Phil’s grip. Nat smooths her hands along his stomach, tracing the lines and contours of him and he jerks helplessly, ticklishly, against her exploration.

“Nat, please,” he says, sounds a little like he’s hiding a laugh into the skin of his bicep. She strokes a line down his hip bone and he says, quiet, “ _please,”_ like he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, a little too turned on and too shy to articulate what he wants, but he _aches_ with it, like a hot brand is burning its way into his lower stomach.

He cries out wordlessly, voice wrecked, as she rolls a nipple between her fingers, convulsing upwards like he just can’t help it. “Nat, please,” he gasps again, like those are the only two words he knows anymore.

Nat looks at him again, at the prettiness of his submission and groans low in her throat. She reaches out and strokes him, and he bows off the couch and his chest is just _there,_ so she leans down over him and bites his nipple, hard enough for the pain of it to make him shudder, and she’s just tightening her hand for another stroke –

Phil clears his throat again. “I hate to interrupt,” he says slowly, voice rough. “But how about we take this to a bedroom?”

Nat slumps forward until her forehead rests on Clint’s chest and blows out a long breath. She takes a minute to find her composure, but when she sits up Clint still looks _wrecked._ His chest is heaving, flushed, and he’s hard between her thighs, and his eyes are so dark they look black. For half a second, she considers rocking against him again, imagines the way that his soft mouth would fall open as he came because she can see by the tension of his throat he must be close, and if she just -  

Nat gets off him instead and breathes deep. That wasn’t the plan.

 

It must take ten minutes to get to Clint’s room, mostly because Nat keeps stopping to shove Clint against the wall and kiss him, teeth sharp on his throat until he starts to beg, almost incoherent with how much he _wants,_ and then Phil can’t help himself, has to have a taste too, so they kiss slow and easy against Clint’s door until Nat gets sick of the waiting and shoves them in and straight onto the bed.

Clint bounces once and lands on his back, going easily when Nat guides him into the middle of the mattress. He props himself onto his elbows and watches them with dark eyes. For the first time, he looks a touch nervous and they all pause.

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, so he clears his throat and tries again. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses. His fingers twist restlessly in the sheets. “I’ve never done this before, um, when I’ve… wanted to.” Natasha feels her fingers twitch and has to resist a sudden, violent urge to go into Clint’s past and kill a few people and she knows that beside her, Phil is doing the same.

“But you want to now?” Phil clarifies carefully, and Clint nods with a shy smile.

“I just – I just want to be good. For you?” It sounds like a question, but Clint is like that sometimes. He’s gone after things too hard and too fast sometimes, has been blown off and laughed at enough that he is skittish about articulating what he really wants.

Phil smiles, slow and easy and “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he asserts. “You’re just going to lie there and I’m going to make you come, maybe with my fingers but maybe with my mouth, and maybe I’ll teach you how to please Nat, too.”

Clint gives a full body tremble and his lashes flutter, so Nat runs her fingers through his hair just because he looks so pretty she can’t help it.

“Does that sound good to you, lovely?” she murmurs in his ear and he nods instantly.

“Yes,” he says, “please, I-” he cuts off on a moan as Phil runs a finger down the length of his hardness, pressing gentle but sure fingers to the fragile skin between his legs until all Clint can do is twist wordlessly. For a second, the fingers disappear, but Clint is so busy being kissed blind by Nat that he can hardly register it. Then the fingers come back, wet with lube that Phil must have summoned out of the air because _Clint_ sure as hell didn’t notice him move and Phil touches him, insistent pressure until he’s edged one finger all the way in, testing gently.

“Good?” he asks, and Clint is nodding, cheeks flushed, before the question is even finished. Phil twists his finger and watches with a pleased little smile as Clint bows off the bed, mouth falling open with surprise.

Nat strokes her hand over his hair again, settling in behind him so that his head rests on her crossed legs. His chest is heaving, and she reaches out and pinches his nipples just because they’re right there and because she wants to.

Clint moans and flushes, embarrassed, so Phil twists his finger again, adding another and searching. Like the pleasure all suddenly too much for him, Clint shudders and relaxes into Natasha’s lap, as if he just settles into the mode of being acted upon, and she sighs, pleased, at the sight. Phil presses firmly on Clint’s prostate, circling gently. “What,” Clint asks, jerking, but Phil just twists again in answer and Clint breaks off on a half moan half sob. “What _is_ that,” he begs, and then his mouth falls open and he can’t talk anymore because it’s so – it’s so good he can’t even control the movement of his hips.

“Please,” he begs again incoherently. “Please.”

“Would you look at that,” Nat murmurs, a little teasing. “He begs.”

Phil adds another finger, watching carefully for any discomfort on Clint’s face, but all Clint does is moan, a little breathless like all of the air has left his body to make room for the fingers inside him, and Phil lets out a low groan. “Here,” he says after a minute of watching, and slips out his fingers. Clint moans, a little bereft, and wriggles his hips like he can convince Phil to come back.

“Flip over onto your stomach,” Phil directs gently, tapping Clint’s hip. Clint spins around, graceful despite his speed and the muscles of his shoulders flex and bunch as he settles comfortably into the cradle of Natasha’s thighs, arms wrapped around her waist.

He presses his face into the warmth of her, can smell how hot and wet she is and moans quietly at the sudden desire he feels to touch her.

Almost before he knows it, her pants are gone and he finds himself mouthing the material of her boy shorts, inexperienced but trying. Natasha smiles at him and grants his inarticulate wish – she slides off her panties so he can press closer to her and Phil chooses that exact moment to slide his fingers back in. Clint bows away from her again, pleasure setting him to shaking like a frightened horse until she smooths her hand down his face and he settles, eyelashes fluttering.

With calm hands, she guides him back down to her and shows him how she wants to be pleased, says, _like this Clint,_ and arcs up against him when he gets it right, curls his tongue the way she likes it.

He’s trying so hard to be good, Natasha can tell, but Phil is insistent in his pursuit of Clint’s pleasure and has almost impossibly accurate aim. Clint is left pressing open mouthed kisses against her hip, unable to do any more than moan against her skin and nearly in tears with a combination of the pleasure and the frustration.

“Easy, Clint,” she murmurs, and pulls his head back by his hair to look at him, at his big, happy eyes. “How do you feel, lovely?”

“Good,” he manages, choked as Coulson brushes once again past his prostate, the wide muscles of his back shivering.

 

Then it goes to shit, quite suddenly and in a way neither Natasha or Phil had predicted when they sat down and talked this through – they had thought, _how do we deal with the fallout if he says no,_ and, _how are we going to calm him down if he freaks out?_

They hadn’t thought, _this is a highly trained operative who we’re dealing with. He might hurt us._

Within a half second Clint’s expression goes from surprised pleasure to fear, to _panic,_ and before Natasha can even think to react he’s flipping over, kicking out at Phil’s exposed stomach. Just barely, Phil catches the foot and takes the force of it with a grunt, but by then Clint has already leapt across the room and paused, catlike, in the corner by the window.

Natasha has a sudden vivid vision of him breaking the glass and jumping, using that hard earned skill as an acrobat to land and then run. “Clint,” she says, and puts a hand on Phil’s arm.

Clint tenses, looks like he might bolt, but then he is wilting, face crumbling with something not unlike embarrassment. “It’s okay,” Nat encourages, “just take a breath.”

“I’m _breathing,”_ he snaps and then cringes, sucks in a breath and lets it out again slowly. “I’m not - well, actually, now I’m just embarrassed.”

“It’s okay,” Nat repeats again. “Why don’t you come over here, so we can talk this through?”

“Okay. I’m. I’m coming over.” Cautiously, looking like he’s steeling himself, Clint steps back to the bed and perches down on the edge, still poised for flight, though now it looks less like out of fear and more like out of embarrassment.

“This is quite possibly the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me, and I’ve caught myself on fire in public.” Clearly trying to make light of the situation, Clint shoots them a rapid-fire smile and returns to flicking his gaze around the room, eyes jumping restlessly from place to place.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Phil assures him, voice unwavering.

“We aren’t mad,” Nat ads, in case that’s what he’s worried about. It seems to be – he slouches down miserably, eyes downcast.

“Do you know what happened?” Nat asks, once he’s properly settled, and she slides back on the bed and tugs at his arm so the he follows her up the bed to lean against the headboard, head tucked under her jaw. He’s curled up impossibly small, face hidden, and Phil strokes a gentle hand along his calf muscle in an attempt to soothe him.

“No.” Clint replies. “Well, yes. I guess.” He pauses, working the words over in his mind. “I just couldn’t see Phil. But I could feel him – I got kind of muddled up, I think.”

“Like a flashback?” Phil confirms, glancing up at Natasha.

“Yeah, I guess.” Clint lifts his head up and glances between them. “I want to carry on,” he announces, stubbornly. “I do. I just need a minute. And to be able to see Phil when we, when. You know.” He trails off, embarrassed, and tucks his face back into Natasha’s neck.

“When he fucks you?” Natasha asks, smile lifting the edges of her mouth. “We don’t have to do that now, or any time if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” Clint argues gently, going red.

“Okay,” Phil says easily. “Do you want to ride me?” and Clint chokes on his tongue.

“I think that’s a yes,” Natasha teases gently, nudging Clint more upright.

Clint looks like he’s swallowed his tongue, mute, but he goes easily when Phil tugs him forward to straddle his thighs. “Is this okay?” Phil asks, stroking gentle hands over the skin of Clint’s wrists, the strong sharp bones and thick sinews of him.

“You don’t have to keep asking,” Clint replies quietly, and Phil presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Natasha presses up against his back, stroking a firm hand down his chest to rest on his stomach.

“We care,” she reminds him gently. “That’s why we keep asking.”

“I know you do,” he replies, breath hitching as Phil wraps a hand around his cock and strokes upwards.

“Then let us take care of you,” Phil mutters. “Natasha, could you -”

Clint muffles a sound at the feeling of Natasha’s clever fingers pressing into him, testing where his boundaries lay. Briefly, he makes eye contact with with Phil, but he has to throw his head back and close his eyes at the heat in them, at the warmth. He’s never had anyone look at him the way Phil is looking at him now; the way he imagines Natasha would look at him, if he could see her, with so much kindness it makes him feel physically full.

Natasha strokes that _something_ inside him and his hips jump - he feels the warmth of Phil between his legs and feels his belly clench with _want._

“Please,” he repeats, rocking forward. Natasha slides an arm around him to slip a condom onto Phil, and Clint presses a kiss to her shoulder. He’s suddenly glad that she is thinking of all these things; that he doesn’t have to.

“Okay,” Phil says. “Okay, baby, come on, come here,” and Clint shifts forward, feels Phil press against him and shifts again and feels him slide in, one long slow movement.

“Ah,” he says, eyelids fluttering. “Oh, will you please,” and then he rocks forward, cries out at the feeling of it all, heat and safety, Natasha a warm line against his back, her chin on his shoulder, all so much, so good.

“Clint, baby,” Phil groans, pressing his head back into the mattress, throat a long line, sweating at the temples. “Can I move?”

Clint shudders wordlessly, and Natasha pinches his nipple, a little mean. “Yes,” he blurts out, “yes, please, Phil come on,” and he manages to flash a little smile, looking so much like himself that Phil laughs, and Clint is grinning down at him right up until Phil plants his feet on the mattress and pushes his hips up, hard, and Clint loses his smile, crying out.

A trickle of sweat rolls down his throat and Natasha leans over him to bite at it, chasing the line of his jaw up to take his mouth in a kiss.

Phil sets up a steady rhythm that leaves Clint gasping into Natasha’s mouth, trying to kiss back through the pleasure, but then Phil wraps a hand around his cock over Natasha’s and Clint comes, orgasm ripping out of him with a sound that almost sounds pained.

“Oh,” he breathes, “oh, wow, okay.” And he looks so disheveled, so well fucked and messy, lips red and hair a mess, eyes bright, that Natasha plants a hand on his chest and shoves him down, pulling Phil upright as she goes, so that they can both look down at the picture he makes.

“He’s pretty,” she says after a moment, Phil humming with agreement.

“Think he could go again?” she asks, talking over him and enjoying the way it made his ears go red at the tips. “I’d like to have him too. Maybe you should give him something to do while we wait?”

Phil takes off the condom and throws it with unnerving accuracy into the wastebasket on the other side of the room, and says, “I think we can work something out.”

The something is this; Clint, moaning around Phil’s cock, throat a long line as he arches trying to find the best angle. Phil takes it slow, easy motions rocking him in and out of Clint’s mouth, and Natasha strokes at Clint, hands gentle along the lines of his abs, his ribs, the muscles of his thighs.

By the time Phil comes, shuddering and with an endlessly careful hand pressed to Clint's jaw, Clint is hard again and Natasha slides into his lap, all grace and predator in her movement.

“Yes?” she asks, gesturing between them. For her, this is kindness in the best way she knows how - she wants this to be good for everyone, and she doesn’t want Clint to feel rushed. Still, she is throbbing, wet and ready for him.

“Yes,” Clint agrees, breathing hard, and she presses onto him, sighing, and when she sees the startled pleasure on his face she fists a hand in his hair and pulls him up for a fierce kiss.

“Yes,” Clint repeats, and then again, like it’s the only thing he knows how to say, head pressing back into the bed. She rocks forward, setting up a steady rhythm. He’s good - he’s so good, sweet for her, and she tells him so, pleased when it makes him blush.

Phil reaches over and presses his thumb to her clit and she lets out a throaty sound, clenching down and speeding up her rocking. “Come on, Nat,” Phil says gently and she throws her head back and comes, gasping. She is beautiful in her pleasure, and Clint screws his eyes up at the sight, trying to make sure he remembers it forever. The feeling of her, coming undone around him, is incredible. He is helpless to do anything but grit his teeth and shudder through another orgasm.

 

Afterwards, they lie in a tangle, Phil absently brushing his fingers along Clint’s spine. “So,” he says eventually, pushing up onto one elbow when it seems like nobody else is going to speak. To his left, Natasha goes unnaturally still, but Phil’s only sign of tension is the slight pause in his fingers.

“Are we.. was that..” Clint trails off, unsure of what he even wanted to say, or how to say it. “Are we going to do that again?”

Natasha lifts her head and gives him a firm look. “We’re only doing what you want to. Maybe you never want to do this again, or maybe you would like to do it a couple more times and then stop.” She cocks her head slightly. “But if you want to do this for the rest of our lives, Phil and I would like that, too.”

It’s quite a meaningful statement, from her. Clint knows her story, her life. A commitment of forever is not something she takes lightly, no matter how easy her tone.

“Huh,” he says, and lies back down.

Tomorrow, they’ll have to have a proper talk about this. About what they want, together. But for now, this is enough. Clint relaxes between them, feeling something like hope begin to lift its head within his chest.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I'm delaying posting my next chapter of Do Not Want War because i haven't had a chance to write as much as I'd like and thought I should throw something into the void. Uhhhh,,,, this has been floating around in my laptop for about four million years, so I've just polished it off. I'm gonna throw it at you and leave haha. 
> 
> Title from frenship's song 1000 Nights, from the line   
> "It's hard to see beyond what's in sight  
> But when you tilt the light I realize  
> For 1000 nights  
> I've been a restless soul  
> Just wasting time  
> Digging up fool's gold,"
> 
> Feedback is welcome, and if you think I've forgotten something important in the tags feel free to let me know :)


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